


The Auditor Who Loved Me

by theresalwaysaway



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fitz is an accountant, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Friends to Lovers, Jemma is an event planner, New York City, United Nations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theresalwaysaway/pseuds/theresalwaysaway
Summary: Jemma Simmons is an event planner at the United Nations in New York City and is assigned an important new project.  At a Christmas party, Jemma meets a handsome accountant.  Both the project and her recent acquaintance threaten to turn her world upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

Jemma Simmons sat at her desk in the early morning quiet. She liked to get to the office early and begin her day with coffee, the international headlines and perhaps an in-depth article from _The Economist_. Once that was done, she looked around her cubicle—it was impeccable. “A tidy desk is a happy desk” was her motto. She double-checked her to-do list confirming what she already knew: there was very little on it. 

Other people began arriving around 9am. Melinda May, her boss, greeted her with a curt “Morning” as she headed to her office, one of the few with a window and a door. Daisy Johnson, her best friend and fellow co-worker, wasn’t in yet. 

Jemma decided to get a second cup of coffee from the common kitchen area, lingering at the window on the way back. From the 17th floor of the Secretariat, the United Nations’ iconic tower in New York City, one could watch the activity on the East River, and, beyond that, the urban sprawl of the other boroughs. On this cold December morning, she could see the steam rising from the buildings, and it reminded her how privileged she was to work here, in the middle of it all. 

In the event planning department she was constantly meeting new people—minor and sometimes major celebrities like Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon. Her sunny disposition helped her keep her head when last minute crises inevitably hit. She wandered past Melinda’s office to see if she had an assignment for her, but the door was still closed.

Suddenly, it opened. “Jemma! Just the person I wanted to see. They got the funding. It’s a go.” Melinda walked past her and Jemma quickly fell into step with her boss.

“What? What’s a go?” Jemma asked.

“The fundraiser. The Jamaicans are erecting a monument to the victims of slavery. They just got $60,000 to hold a fundraising luncheon to pay for it.”

“Where are we going?” Melinda was not one for giving out details; everything was on a need to know basis. 

“I’m introducing you to the one in charge of the monument project. Phil Coulson.” 

Jemma’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?” 

Melinda stopped short. “Yes, you’ll be in charge of planning the fundraising event.”

“Oh!” She tried to keep the trepidation out of her voice.

“We were in the Peace Corps together. He’s a good man.”

With a budget of $60,000, this was by far the largest scale event she had ever tackled, but if Melinda thought she was ready, she was. 

“Don’t worry,” Melinda reassured her. “It’s just like the UNICEF fundraiser you did for cleft palate surgeries—except much bigger.” Jemma gulped as they knocked on Phil’s door.

* * *

She threw herself into the details. In just a few days, she had made significant headway. Date settled—check. Venue secured—check. Entertainment, menu, invited guest list, centerpieces—works in progress. It was satisfying. 

Her meager social life was supplemented by texts from her ex-boyfriend in DC. They still kept in touch. Why not? They had known each other for years and the familiarity was nice. When she first moved to New York and was making her way in a new city, he had been a sympathetic ear from afar. She and Will had an understanding—a dating relationship just didn’t work with them. She thought she had broken it off before he got too attached. He was nice and all, but in her heart, she knew it was not going to go anywhere. However, she didn’t want to burn any bridges, either. A friendly contact in DC was always a good thing professionally, right? 

She was in the middle of texting Will back about some detail for a trip they were taking to Rio De Janeiro for New Year’s, when Jemma heard a knock on the metal edge of her cubicle wall and turned around. It was Daisy. “I’m having a Christmas party. You in?”

“When is it?” Jemma carefully recorded the date in her bullet journal when she got the answer from Daisy. Yes, she would transfer it into her electronic calendar app on her phone, but she loved the feel of paper and the control she had over the aesthetic. “I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”

“Can you bring those anisette cookies? Those were unbelievable. And bring a friend if you like.”

“Daisy, you know all my friends.”

“What about Will? Aren’t you texting him? Is he going to be in town?”

“No, we’re just finishing up our plans for Rio.”

“Oh, ok then. In any case, bring your discriminating taste. There may or may not be some high quality men in attendance. Ho Ho Ho!” Daisy grinned suggestively. Jemma gave her a withering look. “I’m just saying….”

Jemma replied, “Well, I’m just saying, stop...expecting things.” She tossed a wadded up piece of scrap paper Daisy’s way to make her point.

“Hey! I thought the UN was a violence-free zone!”

* * *

Even though Jemma also worked in event planning with Daisy, she always admired Daisy's parties in particular. Not only did she provide perfectly placed snacks, festive music and just enough alcohol to keep spirits up, she also always managed to balance the guest list with both familiar faces and new ones. Jemma found Daisy. “Hey, great party.” She handed her the plate of cookies. “Anisettes with sprinkles. Dispense as you see fit. I’m going to mingle.”

“Before you head out into the fray,” Daisy held up two pitchers. “Margaritas! Red or Green?” 

“Red, please.” Jemma carried her drink over to some friends from work and started chatting. The discussion turned to the current crop of Christmas blockbusters. 

“Hey, anyone want to go see _Arrival?_ ” Jemma asked innocently. It was kind of a joke now. Jemma would name a film, the more highbrow the better, and everyone would groan. She took it well. She enjoyed these films and would go by herself if she had to. 

Daisy came over offering refills and pulled Jemma aside. “Hey, I want you to meet someone.” She pointed over to a man with short curly hair wearing a blue button down. He looked uncomfortable, but lit up when he saw Daisy approaching. 

“If you finished your red, try the green!” Daisy greeted him.

“I’m good,” said the man who was clearly nursing his drink, unlike some of the other guests.

“Fitz, I want you to meet my friend, Jemma. She and I work in event planning.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jemma.” said Fitz, sticking out his hand. 

“Same, Fitz is it?” Jemma was surprised by the sturdy grip enveloping her hand. He was ruggedly handsome up close, with strong symmetrical features and deep blue eyes. He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him. 

“Yes.”

Daisy added, “Yeah, Jemma and I work in the same building as you. And…you can introduce yourselves further because I have to check on the bacon-wrapped scallops in the oven.” 

Fitz piped up, “Yes, you definitely have to go do that.” He licked his lips. 

Jemma thought she caught a sneaky smile on Daisy’s face as she ran off to the kitchen.

“You work in the Secretariat too?” Jemma asked, trying not to think about what Daisy was up to.

“Yes, but in a decidedly non-glamorous position, I’m afraid.” Fitz laughed ruefully. “Daisy tells me about _all_ the high-profile VIPs you meet. It’s really not fair sometimes. Not only do you wine and dine them, but they’re always glad to see _you_. No one’s all that keen to see us.”

Intrigued, Jemma prodded, “Wait, what do you mean?” What exactly did he do?

“I’m in auditing.” 

Jemma looked at him like he was a strange and unusual species. She honestly had always pictured auditors as crotchety old men with glasses—not young, attractive men with a bit of scruff. “I’ve never seen an auditor up close. How interesting!” she said instead, smiling and nodding. Diplomatic, she could be. All day long.

“Your eyes are glazing over already. Don’t worry, it happens all the time,” he added before Jemma could retort. “But somebody has to check the UN books to make sure all is above board. I can live with the boring job description if that’s what it means.”

“You keep the UN accountable. It’s an important thing,” she reassured him.

She was pleased to see him instantly brighten. “Yes, exactly!” 

“Who have you audited?”

“That’s classified,” he said in a mock whisper. “We do publish everything eventually, but I can’t talk about current investigations.”

“Must be hard keeping everything confidential.”

“I guess.” Fitz shrugged. “But, work stays at work.” 

_True_ , thought Jemma, but now the conversation had stalled. She saw his eyes scanning the room, and she realized she needed to say something or he was going to politely excuse himself.

“Sorry, totally off-topic, but… could you settle a debate I’ve been having with people?”

“Fire away.”

“Do you think it’s weird to go to the movies by yourself?”

Fitz shook his head emphatically. “No, I just did it the other day.”

“Thank you!” Jemma smiled smugly. _Take that, coworkers._ “It’s frustrating that everyone seems to think it’s weird,” she continued. “Like, there’s this new movie _Arrival...._

“Yeah, and no one wants to see it. They all want to see the latest Marvel extravaganza or anything filled with explosions or unnecessary special effects—” 

Jemma was getting more excited by the second. “Right! But you want to see more than just mind-blowing explosions, you want mind-blowing ideas…”

“Yes. Everyone wants to see _Rogue One_. No one wants to see _Arrival_.”

They high-fived each other, both looking very pleased with the direction the conversation took. 

“I took a Film Theory class in college—” started Jemma.

“Me, too—” interrupted Fitz.

“—it was the only thing that would fit in the my schedule.”

“It was either that or Creative Movement and Dance. Just. No.” 

“Ah, come on, Fitz. No plié?” She teased him and demonstrated by bending her knees while holding her hands out in front of her. “No pirouette?” She set her drink down before executing a perfect spin. As she came out of the spin she must have looked a little dizzy, because Fitz put his hand out to catch her, as if instinctively. While she didn’t need it, she appreciated the gesture.

“Let’s make a deal,” he told her, “you handle the dance portion of our show and I will perfect the leaning-against-the-wall move.” He leaned his head against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and started to close his eyes. 

“Hey, no sleeping!” She tapped him on the shoulder. “We have to talk film theory!”

His eyes flew open, his arms uncrossed and a half-smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, ok. Let’s talk film theory.” Which is exactly what they did for the next thirty minutes. They had basically the same taste in film, so their conversation just continued to be each of them finishing each other's thoughts.

“We should totally go see _Arrival!_ ” Fitz suggested enthusiastically, when the conversation looped back around to it.

“Yes!” Jemma agreed, clasping her hands together in excitement. “We should! We could have our own little club—like a book club, but for movies.”

Before Fitz could reply, the loud clanking of glass directed the room’s attention to Daisy. Jemma felt a little disappointed, but still listened to her friend. 

“Thanks for coming everyone! But I have a very special award to give. I know that this is a Christmas party… but it’s my party so suck it up!” She laughed, clearly joking. “Anyway, to the award! Our outstanding recipient didn’t even know he was nominated. But, without further ado, our first annual Event Planning Oscar for Best Actor for his role in “The Interviewee goes to Lunch”: Leopold Fitz!” Holding up a cheap plastic replica as everyone clapped, Daisy pointed right at a surprised and blushing Fitz. 

He walked over and accepted it as Jemma’s eyes widened in recognition. He was the good sport Daisy had recruited to lure Hunter into thinking he was taking a prospective employee to lunch last summer. The entire department had surprised Hunter on the occasion of his engagement (finally!) to Bobbi. She remembered wondering if it was all going to work as they sat at the restaurant waiting for them to arrive. But thanks to the handsome stranger, Hunter was properly astonished and the plan came off without a hitch. Since Fitz had been seated at the far end of the table, she never got to properly thank him when everyone dispersed after the meal. 

And here he was receiving his “Oscar.” Calls of “Speech, Speech” rang out. Fitz sheepishly looked up as he began. “I’d like to thank the Academy….and Daisy in central casting.” A few chuckles. “It’s really an honor just to be nominated. It was kind of fun to go undercover. To Bobbi and Hunter, the newlyweds!” He deftly directed the attention to the couple in the corner and snuck back to his place by Jemma’s side. 

Jemma punched him lightly in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I remember thinking that it was so nice of you. We don’t usually plan surprise parties, but those guys are special.”

Fitz blushed slightly, but didn’t actually answer her question. “Did Daisy tell you the resume she cooked up for me? Apparently I had an MBA from Harvard and worked for Ernst & Young! No pressure!” 

He turned his attention to Daisy, who made it over to them to congratulate him personally.

“Hey, Daisy, remember the resume you prepared for me? You were the worst pretend HR person ever!” Jemma laughed a little less strongly than Daisy and Fitz. She actually could have believed his resume. He was clearly very bright. 

Fitz continued, “You were supposed to come get me right away, not let him actually interview me.”

Daisy winced theatrically as she recalled what happened. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think he’d jump right in. There’s supposed to be some chit-chat. How bad was it? I realized I never asked.”

“I bluffed my way through the first question. But luckily I noticed a Manchester United button on his wall. We talked UK football until you came to get us!”

“Brilliant!” said Daisy, clapping him on the back.

“So, how did you discover the brilliant Mr. Fitz?” Jemma asked Daisy in a mock interview tone, trying to join in.

“He and I were forced to sit through that training thing.” 

Fitz immediately began imitating the instructor who had an unusually low voice: “Welcome to Procurement Policies, Principles and Procedures.”

Jemma burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, I remember him.” Jemma had taken it at a different session. She brought her voice down as low as it would go. “‘Look at the book.’ If you don’t know the protocol, ‘Look at the book.’” She chuckled some more.

Daisy added, “I swear, Fitz was the only thing that kept me sane during that class and when I needed someone who Hunter wouldn’t know, I thought of this guy.” She pointed at Fitz.

“Excellent casting choice.” Jemma nodded in approval.

“And they say there’s no such thing as a free lunch,” commented Fitz.

Daisy countered, “Oh, but there is. And you earned it, my friend.”

“Yes, congratulations on your ‘Oscar,’” Jemma agreed. “It was well-deserved. Speaking of movies,” she said, turning to Daisy, “Fitz and I are going to see _Arrival_ , want to join us?”

“Isn’t that the one where the female star does a lot of staring and whispering? Are there any fight scenes?” Fitz and Jemma exchanged glances while Daisy giggled. “I didn’t think so.”


	2. Chapter 2

Once Jemma returned from New Year’s in Rio with Will, her life was consumed by work. The planning for the fundraiser was nuts, and that was on top of lots of other little projects she had to handle. It was tough. It was dark when she woke and dark when she got home. 

There wasn’t much to break up this schedule either. Occasionally, she would receive texts from Will to confirm details about their next trip to Cancun in March. She was so excited about it. The big fundraiser would be done and she could just crash on the beach. And do nothing. With Will taking care of everything, all her grateful self had to do was pay her half and show up at the airport in DC with her passport—just like the trip to Rio.

More excitingly though, she also began getting texts from Fitz. 

They’d both loved _Arrival,_ and couldn’t stop discussing the fascinating new take on an alien “invasion.” Even when they met over coffee later that week, they were still raving about it. It did eventually morph into a discussion on cross-cultural communication. 

“I’m trying to learn French,” explained Jemma. “Ask me what I know about the French people.” 

“What have you learned about the French?” Fitz played along.

“Well, judging by language alone, they are a very complicated people. Learning their pronunciation is infuriating: something is silent every time you turn around.”

“But look at English,” Fitz retorted.“How would you pronounce ‘cough’ if you didn’t know how to? Or ‘colonel’?” 

“That’s true.” Jemma nodded thoughtfully. “I’m glad English is my first language.” 

“English is my only language.”

“You should learn French. Come on, it’s the lingua franca of diplomacy.”

“I prefer math.”

“Oh, you like numbers? Well then, let me tell you about numbers in French. Counting up to 69 is pretty standard, but then 70 is sixty-ten! Then it continues: 71 is sixty-eleven, and 79 is sixty-nineteen. And then guess what 80 is?”

“Sixty-twenty?”

“You’d think! But no. It’s _quatre-vingts,_ which means four twenties. Basically you have to multiply in the middle of counting to one hundred. But it goes on! Guess what happens at ninety?”

“I couldn’t guess.” He was clearly enjoying her little rant. 

“Just like there’s no seventy, ninety is four-twenties-ten. It’s maddening!” She threw her hands up dramatically. “Why? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Ugh, French.”

“Who invented the metric system?” Fitz took a sip of coffee to hide his grin. He knew the answer.

She looked less than pleased and tried, but failed, to glare at him. “The French.”

“Right! It was the French who got rid of inches, feet, and yards and came up with something that was quite logical.” 

“Now I _really_ don’t understand the French.” She sighed. “But if you want to communicate, you have to learn how they think. It’s not very easy. People and culture can be hard to understand.”

“Now that’s why I like numbers. Either they add up or they don’t. They don’t change their minds or expect you to read their minds. Like people. Numbers are very, very reliable. You can count on _them._ ” Fitz was gazing at his coffee and fidgeting with his cup. He seemed to be thinking about a particular person.

“Literally.” Jemma waited for her little joke to sink in. 

Fitz returned from his reverie and grinned. “Funny.” He then sighed and added, “And this was fun! We should do it again.”

On the cab ride home, Jemma thought about how they had had a surprisingly deep conversation for two people who had just met. She felt really comfortable around him, like she had known him for years.

That’s why it was particularly frustrating when she didn’t hear from him for a couple of weeks. And, even worse, when she did, she was completely swamped.

L Fitz: `I just saw the trailer for another documentary called “Cameraperson”. It looks interesting. But it’s only playing Thursday at 7:00.`

Jemma S: `Sooooo busy. Will let you know.`

She was glad her text didn’t convey her very deep and utter disappointment on the matter. She looked forward to another meeting of their informal club. Fitz was a great sparring partner intellectually. He challenged her, but he had a way of making her feel smarter afterward, not chastened. They were like study partners who both wanted to do well and spurred each other on to do their best. 

Although she meant to check her calendar to make sure she could make it, she decided to confirm one more thing. One more box checked off her list. 

“Check flowers,” she said under her breath as she called the number of the wholesale florist. It rang many times before she heard the ominous tones and the dreaded words, “This number is no longer in service.” She checked the number and dialed again, like the prudent woman she was, but got the same result. Her heart sank. She had scoured the city for a good price on blue hydrangeas, gray roses, and white carnations and now she would have to start all over again with only one month before the big event! 

Two days later, she had opened a new account and secured an appointment with a reputable source for the following week. It was a minor success and there was not much more to be done at the moment. 

L Fitz: `Didn’t hear from you. I’m going tonight, you?`

Jemma S: `Soooooo sorry! Had a floral crisis but am just now free! We are on!!!!`  
Jemma S: `Will tell you all!`

Fitz graciously listened as she jabbered on about her ideas for the centerpieces. 

“On the bottom will be gray roses and just a few red berries to represent the melancholy and suffering of the victims. But mostly what you’d see are blue hydrangeas and white carnations all over the top. The blue represents freedom, white hope and peace. You know, we are to have hope that by remembering, no one has to suffer like that again. Hydrangeas and carnations are both round and hopefully it will look like puffy clouds against a blue sky. I was so glad I found a new florist who could source the gray roses for me. Do you know how hard they are to find? This new florist is going to work with me and I think they will be even better than the one I lost! But, stop me if I’m boring you. I do tend to ramble on!”

“No, no, please continue,” he insisted. "Your design sounds really beautiful...in a sad kind of way. Besides, I think it’s much more interesting than distinguishing restricted and unrestricted funds with a side discussion of the proper accounting of in-kind contributions.” Fitz smirked. Jemma knew that he couldn’t really talk specifics about his job, so she might as well do it for the both of them.

When they arrived at the cinema, they each paid for their own ticket. Afterwards, on the way to a coffee shop nearby, they began picking apart the documentary.

Jemma started off. “What do you think that was all about?”

“I have no idea. There were a lot of different themes, Death—”

“—Birth,” she countered.

Fitz glanced over at her, not breaking his stride, “Memory—”

“—Forgetting,” supplied Jemma.

“Growing older—” challenged Fitz.

“—Being a child!” Jemma finished the pair proudly, but then slowed to a stop. “But nothing really jelled.” 

Fitz stopped as well. “Maybe she wanted us to construct our own narrative.”

They both started walking again. “She certainly took a risk with the way she structured it.”

“Not to mention all those war zones she filmed in. And I’m in risk management. I should know. There’s a lot to be said for stability.”

“But someone has to tell their story!” Jemma argued.

“Yes, they do. I’m just glad I have a job where I don’t have to travel.”

“Oh, c’mon, you have to get out of the city sometimes. Isn’t there someplace you’d like to visit?”

“New York is the place to be; why would I want to leave?” They had arrived at the coffee shop. “Case in point, where else can you get a perfect latte just after viewing, in a real theater, a top-rated, if obscure, documentary?” He opened the door for her.

“Plenty of places, I’m sure,” Jemma maintained as she led the way inside.

Once they had their orders, and found a table, she picked up the conversation again.

“There’s no part of the world you’d like to travel to?”

“I have no need to. Here, the world comes to you. Why, I can go to Italy, Greece, India, China, even Brazil just by hopping on a train and still get back in time to sleep in my own bed. I’ve lived here all my life, my family is here, my history is here. There’s a certain freedom that comes with knowing your way around and how the system works.”

“My family is scattered across the country. And we moved several times while I was growing up. There’s another kind of freedom that comes with starting fresh and not knowing anyone, everything ripe with possibility.” Her confidence faltered slightly as she recalled a childhood memory. “But then you realize it’s 8pm on a Sunday and in your new town, nothing’s open and you miss dinner.” She suppressed a desire to giggle.

Fitz grimaced dramatically, “No! See? That’s what I’m talking about. Missing dinner is an unacceptable risk!” He pounded his plate with what was left of his biscotti to punctuate his point.

“But you learn flexibility!” she disputed, allowing herself to dissolve into giggles.

They continued to have a spirited discussion on the merits of spontaneity, taking calculated risks, the benefits of change, the security of the familiar and so on. It was just the sort of thing Jemma enjoyed about Fitz. His agile mind always had a counterpoint to her point and she enjoyed the challenge of keeping up with him. 

“...and that is why you should travel to Europe, Fitz. It would be good for you.”

“You make a valid argument, Jemma Simmons.” It was getting to be time to head out when Fitz became more serious. “Okay, I’m going to take a risk now.”

He seemed nervous. What was this all about?

“I wondered if you would consider not going to the movies with me.”

“What—?”

“Let me take you out, maybe dinner? Let’s make it a real date.”

She frowned. She liked it the way it was—the exchange of ideas, the camaraderie—she didn’t think of him as anything else. She hesitated and she sensed he knew he had lost. She looked up with a sad look. “I’m sorry.” 

Clearly disappointed, Fitz just nodded and reached for his coat. “It’s okay.” He tried to remain professional, took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around.” And he walked away.

* * *

The next day, she saw Fitz was in the cafeteria at work. Daisy spotted him sitting alone. It seemed that he was just starting his lunch hour as well. 

Before Jemma could say anything, Daisy walked briskly over to his table and asked, “Hey, you expecting anyone?”

“Hi, no.”

“Can we sit with you?”

“Sure, who’s we?” He turned around, saw Jemma, who had stopped, and waved her over. 

Jemma tried to indicate all was not well by widening her eyes as much as possible at Daisy as she passed behind Fitz and sat down. Daisy just sent her a questioning look. Jemma just tried to smile and forced her shoulders to relax as she sat down next to her. 

Daisy put a general question out there. “Have you guys see any good movies lately?” 

Jemma responded, “Fitz and I just saw one last night. The strangest documentary that was very hard to describe.”

Fitz addressed Daisy, “It was clip after clip the director had collected over her life and maybe it was a calculated risk to have it be so unstructured, but it’s makes you wonder if there are some risks that aren’t worth taking.” He shrugged.

Jemma could tell he was trying to be upbeat and not let it bother him, but she knew it did. She looked down at her food and didn’t say anything. 

Daisy tried to break the tension several times without much success. With Fitz and Jemma both doing more eating than talking, they were done in record time. Fitz excused himself first, “Well, it was nice lunching with you ladies, but I’m heading back to work.”

Daisy waved goodbye, “Okay, see you.”

“See you Fitz,” said Jemma hopefully, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

Once Fitz was out of earshot, Daisy turned to Jemma. “What was that all about? I thought you guys were getting along.”

“We are, we were..?” Jemma deflated. “He asked me out, and...”

“You said no.”

“Correct. I don’t think of him like that. But now I’ve gone and mucked it up.” She tried not to whine.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.” consoled Daisy. “Just give him time.”

“I just want my friend back.”

“I know you do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Alone with her thoughts on the last leg of her flight from Rio De Janeiro, even the hot tea on her tray table didn’t bring much comfort. She felt terrible. How had she missed that Will’s feelings for her were as strong as they were? She thought it was clear that they were just friends and occasional travel companions. Now that she recalled, there were looks he gave her that she just shook off. She had been in complete denial. The fact that she blithely assented to not just one beach vacation, but two, had definitely sent the wrong signal! Then, the proposal. Oh, it should have been so romantic! She watched as the hope in his eyes turned to anger and felt her heart turn to stone, despairing to think to that she had broken his. It was her worst nightmare, being the cause of someone else’s pain. It was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

The next morning at work, Daisy came by with a stack of cards and papers. “How was Cancun?”

“Ok.” Jemma replied without enthusiasm.

“Just ok? You don’t look relaxed and refreshed.”

Jemma gave her a pathetic look. “Will proposed.”

“Oh dear.” Daisy frowned.

Jemma looked down at her wringing hands. “I just feel so stupid. Of course I gave him all the signals that I was still interested. Duh! Ugh. I feel like a terrible person.”

“No no, it’s ok Jemma. You’re not a terrible person. You didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, these things happen all the time. You can’t beat yourself up too much.” Daisy glanced over at her worriedly.

Jemma just smiled weakly. “I know, but even though I tried not to hurt him, I did anyway. So it’s over, really over now.” She looked up thoughtfully. “Maybe someday I’ll look back and even say it was a freeing experience.”

“There’s the optimist I know.” Daisy beamed. “And hey, this might cheer you up a bit. Here’s a bunch of thank-yous from the fundraiser. And even though the results are still coming in, it looks like they are going to top $400,000 raised.”

“Really?” Jemma forgot her worries for a moment, so glad to hear the good news. “Thanks, you really know how to be a friend.”

* * *

Fitz hadn’t texted her at all since he had asked her out. She didn’t know why she thought he would. She’d hurt him too.

But, it was ok. She would just have to go to the movies alone again. She didn’t have any trouble with it before they began their little club, so she shouldn’t now. 

That turned out to be a lie. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying going alone now. She kept thinking, “What would Fitz say?” throughout the entire movie. She missed their easygoing banter, the way he listened to her theories and the respect he gave her when she pointed out something he missed. She was filled with aching and longing and it just wasn’t fun anymore. 

Jemma almost stopped going, but then there was _Fire at Sea_. She couldn’t pass that up, Fitz or no Fitz. She was genuinely interested in it and she was going to go before before it stopped playing at the local art house cinema.

Because her decision was impulsive for once, she actually waited in line for tickets instead of buying them online. She swallowed hard when she noticed an attractive guy who looked exactly like Fitz five people ahead of her in line. Her heart began to hammer. _Was it Fitz? No. Yes, it was!_ She tried to keep track of the back of his head after he bought his ticket (just one, she noted happily), but she lost him. Once she got her ticket, she jogged inside to see if he was still in the lobby. What luck! He was paying for popcorn. 

She inhaled deeply. She could do this. They could still be friendly, right? She bounced up to him and said, “Hey, fancy meeting you here!”

At first, he seemed quite pleased to see her, but just as quickly his expression dimmed and he became slightly more distant. “Yeah. What are you here to see?”

Jemma, still high from being able to catch up to him, said a little over-excitedly, “Fire at Sea! You?” 

He showed her the ticket with the beginnings of a grin on his lips and with a hint of a sparkle in his eyes. “Same.”

“Of course! We UN people should be learning about the plight of refugees. We should get reimbursed for the cost of the ticket. Which way is our theater?” Jemma felt a surge of energy and optimism. She was going to make this work. She ignored his comment on what the UN’s policy for entertainment reimbursement was and simply forged ahead. 

Afterward, they walked mostly in silence due to the somber reality of what those refugees fleeing North Africa were facing. Maybe they were paying too careful attention to the sidewalk to notice that the puddle in the street ahead was just perfect for drenching pedestrians as vehicles drove through it. Suddenly, most of the contents of the puddle headed straight for them. Fitz instinctively threw his arms around Jemma from the back and made his body a barrier between her and the wave of frigid water.

“What are you-?!” Jemma exclaimed. Her confusion turned to concern when she escaped his arms and saw he was soggy and dripping, while she stayed mostly dry. 

“I got a little wet.” He smiled slightly.

“You’re soaked to the skin. You can’t stay like that! You’ll freeze! Let’s just go to my place. It’s close by. We can throw those wet things in the dryer and I’ll just make coffee there. It’s all settled.”

“No, I can just head home, really.”

“But then we won’t discuss the movie. Please?” She really needed to keep whatever they had going.

“If you don’t mind a waterlogged movie reviewer dripping on your floors.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Fitz was indeed freezing by the time they arrived at Jemma’s studio apartment. “It’s not much,” she said as she opened the door. It wasn’t. The single room served as kitchen, living room, dining room, and bedroom. “But it has hot water and ta-da,” she motioned to the compact washer with a dryer stacked on top. “Hot air.” She hurriedly found a towel and some clothes for him and said, “You warm up in the shower and I’ll make us some coffee.”

“You’re the boss.”

And that is how Fitz came to be dressed in her largest sweats while his clothes tumble dried.

“You look like a refugee.” Jemma gently teased as she handed him some coffee when he came out. 

“And you took me in. I’ll never forget your kindness.” He took a sip and looked at her sincerely.

“It was the least I could do. What with you taking the brunt of the tsunami that hit us.” 

They both sat at her little table and she dove in before she lost her courage, “Fitz, about what you asked me that night in the coffee shop—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I want to. If you were to ask me again, you might get a different answer.”

“I might, huh? Well, I just might do that.”

Then they were back at it and began unpacking the movie. Well into the second cup of coffee, Fitz was talking about one of the best parts of the film when the refugees began chanting spontaneously, exalting in their successful crossing. She was reliving the moment with him when suddenly, a warmth spread throughout her chest, a fondness for him that threatened to overwhelm her. He stopped talking and took a sip of coffee. He really was very attractive, those blue eyes looking at her expectantly.

“I said, ‘What did you think?’”

“Hmmmm?” Jemma looked away and blushed.

“You looked worried. You weren’t listening to me at all, were you?”

“I’m sorry. Let me check your clothes.” And she hurried away to the dryer. “Good news, your shirt is dry.”

The time it took him to put it on gave Jemma a chance to recover. 

“What were we talking about before I so rudely drifted off?” By the time the rest of his clothes were dry, the equilibrium was restored. When it was time to go, Fitz waited to put his coat on before asking, “How about this? You let me pay for the tickets and we’ll go see _Manchester by the Sea_ tomorrow night.”

Jemma had given up hope that Fitz was going to ask her again that night. When he did, she let out a little squeak and she agreed with a nod. “Uh-huh.” 

Opening the door, he flashed her his widest smile and said, “Until tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” He was gone and so was she. So to speak. She was falling hard and had no idea how or whether to stop it.

* * *

After seeing the second movie in as many days together, they decided to just go back to Jemma’s again instead of their favorite coffee shop. There were fewer choices of coffee, but less noise and surprisingly more seating. 

“God, that was one of the most depressing movies ever,” stated Fitz once they got in the door.

“Really? Are you sorry we went?”

“No, of course not. I just…It was hard to watch Lee just give up on life and everything.” 

Jemma started the coffee while Fitz, still in his overcoat, sat heavily on the futon which doubled as Jemma’s bed, but was now set up like a couch. “He just left!”

“He did have a particularly cruel tragedy befall him.”

“I know. And I get that. Dropping out is fine, I guess, for a little while. But then eventually you have to rejoin the human race.” He got a faraway look in his eye. “That’s what I did.”

“What did you do?” Jemma handed him his coffee and gave him her full attention.

“Thanks.” He took a sip before continuing. “Gave up. I swore off relationships. For a year. But then at some point….” He trailed off and took another sip of coffee, his knee bouncing. “Were you ever in a long-term relationship you thought was heading somewhere when it all went wrong and you don’t know how?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“The worst part was I felt great after we broke up. Free. It’s like she got angrier and angrier and— I still can’t figure out why—then it was over. I thought I was doing everything right. But there’s no pleasing some people.”

Jemma fidgeted. She didn’t know what to say. “You’re one of the nicest people I know.”

“Well, I’m not a very good judge of people. Apparently. So I gave up, and threw myself into work. Boss was happy.” He chuckled mirthlessly.

She went back to prepare her own cup. 

“If you aren’t a good judge of people, what does that say about me?”

“What?”

Jemma merely waited for it to sink in. 

“Oh, yeah. You got me.” She certainly hoped so. “You’re different.” 

“Am I? Mmmm. Tell me all about it.” She sat down next to him and noticed he still had his coat on. “But let me take your coat first. Are you cold? Are you coming down with something after being so wet yesterday?” She felt his head with the back of her hand.

“I’m fine.” He hugged his coat tighter. “Just...I don’t know...grumpy. I’m definitely not a great judge of first date movies, either.” His knee started to bounce again.

Jemma surmised that one way to get Fitz out of his funk would be to challenge him. “Tell me how I’m different.”

He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees as he tried to concentrate. “I don’t have to guess what you’re thinking. You are an open book with a lot of content on each page. You came to New York to follow your dream. That takes a lot of strength, I admire that. You could be dating any number of guys, but you agreed to go out with me, a boring accountant.”

“You’re not boring! You’re practically a secret agent with all the investigations you have to do, making sure not to cause any international incidents. Why, you’ve already gone undercover once! The secret life of Fitz, handling classified data, taking down the bad guys with a single keystroke.”

“Another talent you seem to have,” Fitz began as he took off his coat and tossed it next to hers, “is banishing my grumpiness.” He smiled at her, kindly.

“And the movie wasn’t all gloom and doom!” she reminded him. “There were a lot of funny moments.” 

“There were.”

“I liked how the teenaged boy was trying to be all sophisticated, but then you see him depending on his new father-figure to drive him to his girlfriend’s house.”

“One of two girlfriends, don’t forget. That’s just irresponsible dating, dude.” Fitz shook his head.

“Ouch.” Jemma winced. “That would be me.”

“You double-dated?”

“No! But I was irresponsible, maybe. With someone’s heart.” She put her head in her hands.

Jemma confessed the whole tale of Will and the proposal and by the end was in tears. Fitz looked around for a box of tissues and passed it to Jemma. She looked up at him to thank him and, seeing no judgment, just concern, smiled slightly and said, “I’m a wreck.”

“I’d say more like a fender-bender. I wouldn’t even call the insurance.”

She wiped her eyes again and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. “Thank you.” She took a long breath in and let it out. Fitz put his palm lightly on her back, rubbing it in comforting, gentle circles. 

“Thank you,” Jemma whispered. “You’re so good to listen to me go on and on.” She reached out her hand and put it on his knee. “She didn’t deserve you,” she remarked out of the blue.

She flopped back on the futon and looked up at the ceiling. “Why are people so hard to figure out?” Rolling her head so she could see his face, as if he might actually have an answer, she waited. He didn’t. He just stared at her. She imagined briefly that he was thinking of kissing her. And that she wouldn’t have a problem with that. But no, what if he wasn’t? She abruptly looked around and down at his empty cup. “More coffee?”

The moment passed, but the coffee and conversation flowed well into the night. Neither wanted it to end. Finally, Fitz sighed, looking at his watch. “It’s late, I should go. We both have to work in the morning.” Jemma brought some of the dishes over to the kitchen area and Fitz followed with the rest. He tried to lean casually on table but it shifted slightly under his weight. After righting himself and clearing his throat. “Ah, um, do you want to do this again tomorrow?”

“Sure. What were you thinking?” Jemma had her hands in the sink but turned her head around.

“Dinner? I want you all to myself and not have a movie come between us.”

Jemma’s stomach did multiple flips and a chill went through her all over. She fumbled around for a towel to wipe her hands before finding her voice. She turned to face him, eyes shining. 

“Awww, Fitz. That sounds nice.” 

“I’ll text you tomorrow? Well, later today, more accurately,” he corrected himself as he put on his coat.

“You do that.” As she shut the door, she leaned against it and basked in the glow of future plans with Fitz. 

She had a hard time sleeping that night. Between excitement, and caffeine overload, she slept what felt like only minutes before her alarm went off.

* * *

“You look terrible.”

“I feel great, though.” Jemma yawned through the last word. “Fitz and I were up late.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows. “Fitz? I thought…. I’m out for one day and everything changes!” She plunked herself down in the extra chair. “Tell me everything. What were you two up to so late?” She modulated her voice in a sing-song manner.

“We were _talking._ Honestly. We’ve gone out twice in two days,” Jemma triumphed.

“I knew he liked you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. But you turned him down. What happened?”

“I don’t know, really. I just missed him. Then two nights ago, he and I were at the same cinema house at the same time for the same movie. It was fate! I guess I didn’t appreciate him before?”

“He is a great guy.”

“He’s funny. He’s kind. He’s not demanding. I mean sometimes he has strong opinions, but he doesn’t have to ‘be right.’ We just talk and it’s not complicated.” A yawn interrupted her monologue and she took a long sip of coffee. “Well, he said he’d text me to set up dinner. I’ll see if he wants to meet for lunch.”

Jemma S: `Lunch?`

L Fitz: `Not today, super busy. New audit started and it’s a monster.`

L Fitz: `And will have to postpone dinner :-/`

Jemma S: `:-O don’t work too hard.`

L Fitz: `I can’t say how long I’ll have my nose to the grindstone. Postpone not cancel, okay?`

Jemma S: `Don’t forget to eat and sleep.`  
Jemma S: `And breathe.`”


	4. Chapter 4

When Jemma didn’t hear back the next day or the next, she tried texting him and leaving voicemail. But still nothing. It was like he fell off the face of the earth. Was he just busy? Or was there something else going on? Did he have second thoughts? Did she? No, they were going to dinner. She would just have to be patient, resisting the temptation to stop by his office. She failed, however, to refrain from biting her nails. 

On the fifth day after Fitz asked her to dinner, she went to see _The Accountant_ alone. The title character was both a brilliant accountant and trained assassin. She thought she would enjoy it. Instead, it just made her miss him more and despite her best efforts, tears leaked out intermittently, even when she ran out of kleenex. 

On day six, she swore she saw him on her floor, but maybe she was just hallucinating. 

Jemma was beginning to lose hope. What if Fitz didn’t want to see her anymore? What if this was just payback for how she had treated him? It was all so awful.

On day nine, her boss yelled to no one in particular. “We’re being audited?!” 

Jemma’s heart _leapt!_ Of course! That’s why Fitz was incommunicado! The new audit was of _her department._

She rushed into Melinda’s office. “That’s wonderful!”

“What is so wonderful about it?” May stared at her. “I’ll need all your expenses for the slavery monument fundraiser.”

“But we were under budget!”

“I can’t explain bureaucracy. All this paperwork drives me crazy. Don’t they know we’re trying to make the world a better place?”

“The auditors are just trying to do their job. Making sure the UN is a better place.”

“Making the world a better place, one audit at a time. Catchy.” Melinda deadpanned, clearly nonplussed. “Get me that expense report.”

Her expenses were all tracked in one spreadsheet, which she quickly attached to an email and sent it off to Melinda.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Fitz. Was he working too hard? Why was it taking so long? She couldn’t wait to see him again. Where would they go on their date? What should she wear? Sometimes she had doubts. Did she scare him off with her talk of Will? Should she have waited to tell him? Should she have told him sooner? 

Then, the flowers arrived. It was simple arrangement composed of nothing but white carnations. It looked like a puffy cloud, the only thing marring the image was the florist card sticking out. She plucked the card out to read the sender’s name, but it was blank. Calling the number yielded only one piece of information: “The sender wishes to remain anonymous, ma’am.”

Only Will knew her favorite flower. Did he send them? She couldn’t stand not knowing and she texted him. 

Jemma: `Did you send flowers?`

Her phone buzzed immediately. It was Will calling.

“Jemma?”

“Will! Did you get my text? Did you…send me flowers? I just can’t—”

“No, I didn’t,” he said gently.

“Oh, ok…”

“It was good to hear from you, though. I’ve been meaning to call.”

“Will…”

“No, I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“Putting up with me and then breaking up with me. I met someone. And you know what’s funny? I’d known her for months. Once I let you go, for good, I mean, it was like the light dawned—there she was, right in front of me.”

Silence. There was too much going on in her brain to formulate a coherent response. 

“You’d like her.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” But then who sent the flowers? 

“I bet you know who the flowers are really from.”

Fitz? It couldn’t be. But how? “I might,” she replied tentatively.

“I hope he’s a great guy; you deserve the best.”

“He is,” Jemma said absentmindedly, lost in her thoughts about Fitz. Then she remembered Will was still on the line. “Anyway, sorry to bother you! I was just confused for a moment. Thanks for calling, though. It was good to hear your voice.”

“Good luck then. Goodbye, Jemma.”

“Goodbye.”

 _But how would Fitz know her favorite flower?_

The next day, Jemma was going through the spreadsheet of expenses for the fundraiser. Every dollar was accounted for. Every expense legitimate. Then, she stopped. She saw under “flowers” that she had made notes to herself in a moment of elation: “They are throwing in an extra 100 white carnations for FREE. That’s my FAVORITE flower.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. He had seen it. He couldn’t contact her while the audit was in progress, but when the report was done, he’d call. In the meantime, he’d sent a secret message to let her know he was thinking of her. _Thoughtful Fitz._ That darn confidentiality! But wasn’t that one of his more endearing traits? That he had integrity? Did the right thing? She began to be mildly worried about the results. What if they found something wrong? 

Despite her worries about the audit itself, she found that ever since the flowers arrived, she had stopped biting her nails. In celebration, she treated herself to a manicure.

Again and again, her thoughts turned to Fitz. She marveled at his protectiveness. He shielded her from the icy onslaught. And then there were the flowers. Even the investigation itself was his way of protecting the reputation of the UN. If no one trusted the UN, how would any of them get anything done?

Pondering Fitz’s anonymous gift, she determined, “Two can play at that game.” 

She bought a ticket to see _Sully_ , the true-life story about the airline pilot who successfully landed his aircraft in the Hudson River saving all on board. Early the next morning, she crept into his cubicle and placed an envelope under Fitz’s keyboard with a corner partially sticking out. Inside was the ticket and a handwritten message that simply read: “You’re my hero.”

* * *

Fitz finally texted her one morning in late April.

L Fitz: `Monster audit vanquished. Coming up for air. Any plans?`

Jemma S: `I just have to water my flowers.`

L Fitz: `Be in your office in ten minutes.`

Seeing Fitz coming toward her office, unable to help herself, Jemma sprinted over to him and embraced him around his neck. Fitz was touched by her display and squeezed her back. 

“We auditors are not accustomed to such a response.”

“I’m just glad to see my favorite auditor.” She released him and added, “Plus you promised dinner.”

“Ah, but did you get that in writing?”

She looked at him askance. 

“Kidding!”

* * *

As they waited for a table, sitting on a bench near the hostess station, Jemma apologized, “I never properly thanked you for the flowers.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He flushed but seemed pleased. “And I got your ticket!” He paused, then added, “How’d you know they were from me?”

“I figured it out. I know you still can’t talk about it until the report comes out.” Just then the hostess indicated their table was ready. He extended his hand toward hers and she took it. 

As they were eating, Jemma began, “You know what still haunts me?”

“What?”

“The refugees who didn’t make it. The African refugees. I can’t help wondering... I wish they didn’t feel compelled to leave in the first place. What if we could do more to stabilize their home country? Or could interference make it worse?”

“There are people far above our pay grade who make those decisions. I suppose that’s what the UN is for. To make the world a better place.”

“And the auditors makes the UN a better place.”

She felt very lucky to be sitting across from him. They ate for a few moments in silence and her mind drifted to the very unlucky souls in Africa.

“But what if they had stayed, maybe they would have lived? Seems so risky.”

Fitz picked up that she had gone back to the previous thread of their conversation. “Life is full of risks.” He was gazing at her again and she wondered if perhaps he wasn’t just talking about the refugees.

* * *

They continued to see new movies and analyze them over coffee. But more often than not, they would land on Jemma’s futon and share favorite movies of theirs from before they met. 

One night Jemma made pizza for them. 

“You’ve ruined me! I can never order Famiglia’s again. And they were my favorite! Where’d you learn to make pizza?” Fitz asked, his mouth still full. 

“Semester abroad in Italy.”

“It was a good investment. Thanks for not putting pineapple on it.” He took another huge mouthful. “MMmmm. I could eat this every day.”

She had to turn away to collect herself. _I’d like nothing better than to make it for you every day._ Why did she have this desire to please him, take care of him? Would she lose herself in the process? She busied herself brushing flour off the countertops and putting the pans in the sink. It bothered her because she had worked so hard to be independent. She didn’t expect anyone to take care of her. But maybe if they took care of each other, that kind of relationship could work. After all, she was not a child and neither was he. 

And that was another thing. Having children, getting married. She just figured it wasn’t for her. She grasped more than most all the atrocious things the world had to offer. Who would have kids today? Weren’t there too many people on this planet as it was? It was one area where her optimism failed her. Then Fitz, with his good and kind soul, made it seem like creating new humans was an exceptionally good idea. More people like Fitz? Where was the downside? Her whole world was gravitating toward Fitz and turning it upside down in the process.

Fitz, munching happily, left her alone with her thoughts.

After dinner, they were sitting side by side on the futon, Jemma’s legs folded up next to her on the cushion. Fitz was about to start the movie, but stopped and said, “The report comes out tomorrow. I suppose it’s safe to say what we found.”

Jemma gasped, her eyes wide. “Did you find anything?”

“Not in your department. I must say your expense report was top notch. One of the best I’ve seen.”

“It had the proper amount of due diligence?” She was learning his language and enjoyed dropping in a few key phrases whenever she could.

“The funding source was what flagged it. Whoever decided that the Office of Sustainability was the proper source for a monument fundraiser will get a slap on the wrist.” _Phil Coulson._ That’s why Fitz was on her floor that day. “Just trying to get information! Do you have any idea what a pain it is dealing with the Jamaican office?”

Her head fell on Fitz’s shoulder. “I just want to help people.” 

“I know.” He tentatively moved his head toward hers until they just touched. She turned to look up at him. He understood surely. They were both just trying to do their jobs despite the bureaucratic messes. They saw the need for reassurance in the other’s eyes, only inches apart and suddenly their lips met, soothing and easing the pent up fears of the past few weeks. A single kiss turned into more when suddenly Fitz pulled away and put his head in his hands. “Sorry, um, that was not part of the protocol. I didn’t plan that …”

“Life is full of risks, you said. I’m glad we risked it.” She was smiling and positively glowing. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. While you were auditing us, I missed you so much.” She put her hand on his for emphasis.

“I hated the audit, because it kept us apart, yet it was the best part of my day. The more I knew about you, the more I wanted to know.” With the hand she is holding, he gestures over to the flat-screen. “Who needs the cinema? I’ve got something spectacular right here.”

He looked longingly at her and she beamed back under his affection. His lips twitched slightly and then he quipped, “A woman who can stay under budget.” She broke out in protesting laughter. 

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying, fiscal responsibility is a very attractive feature.”

Jemma kissed him soundly to shut him up.

* * *

“Have you ever planned a wedding?” Fitz casually asked as they walked hand in hand in the monument park on the grounds of the UN. 

“Why? Do you know someone getting married?” She teased.“I’ve never done a wedding per se, but it’s an event—more dramatic than most and the flowers are more elaborate but…” she trailed off. She was rambling.

“I do.”

Before the question of who could be formed in her mind, Fitz’s sudden serious tone told her, as he turned to face her and took her other hand.

“I can’t imagine my life without you. You don’t just make the world a better place. You make _my_ world a better place.”

She couldn’t help but flashback to the previous proposal on the beach—the dreadful feeling of having to say no. But, it only highlighted how completely different it was. This was Fitz! Could she jump into the void this time? It was hardly a void if Fitz was with her!

“We’d be together,” she breathed, more to herself.

“Yes, let’s get married.” 

She couldn’t stop giggling. “We _are_ getting married.” It was absurd and wonderful at the same time.

He brought both her hands up to his lips and kissed them, resting his forehead against hers. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes! Of course it’s a yes!” She withdrew her hands from him and immediately cupped his face with them and began peppering his face with little kisses, each one becoming progressively more passionate until she reached his mouth where she settled. He responded by pulling her toward him with his hands around her waist.

“Fitz!” She broke away and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. “It’s almost done!”

“What is?” He blinked a few times.

“The wedding! I’ve been planning it all along! In case you and I….”

As she spilled out all her ideas for the ceremony and reception, Fitz snagged one more kiss and proceeded to gaze contentedly at her. 

Eventually, she stopped talking, leaned up against the railing overlooking the river and studied a ferry boat making its way across the water. Fitz watched with her. Like the exultant refugees, like Sully’s grateful passengers, she had safely crossed the sometimes muddy river of relationships. She turned around to look over at the Secretariat building towering nearby and felt doubly lucky to be at the UN. Not only did she get to help change the world, but it also shaped her own. 

Fitz offered his arm. “You ready?” 

She linked his arm with his. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, fitzsimmonsy, who gave me countless suggestions that made it a much better story.


End file.
